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. she pulled them down.She felt herself again. Her crotch was slick.And she had to touch it. Had to rub it. She really was a bad girl, she knew now, bad bad bad. She rested her palm at the top, let a finger slip between ... Oh! Her hand startled away; it had found a spot of untouchable tenderness. But rubbing around it was good. And beneath it ... she slipped into herself, and the ache intensified and sweetened.She WAS a bad girl. A little bit of pride flickered in her heart. Touching herself wasn't disgusting, it felt good. Really, really good, in fact. Fine, if she was a bad girl, she'd be a Bad Girl. She'd been punished before, many times, and she'd learned that sometimes being Bad was worth the paddle, even the crop. This seemed to be one of those times.She rocked her hand on its heel, pressing at the top, probing at the bottom. Her finger couldn't go in deep enough. Her knees went wobbly, and she sank to the floor. Soon she was too weak even to kneel, and she fell forward,. I was ten years old and my husband was in my bed, ready to take me - except that now my husband was real and my little-girl self was the fantasy.And I was sharing the fantasy with him on his birthday.With John leaning over me, there was no need to do naughty things to myself. John would do all the naughty things that needed to be done - and we definitely needed plenty of naughtiness.It was a slow process. There were many pleasures for him to enjoy and he wanted to savor every one of them. His hand grazed the bottom hem of my flannel PJ top, feeling the individual cotton fibers against the ridges of his palm and fingerprints. It would have tickled me except that I was completely relaxed and ready for him.Slowly, carefully, his hand advanced up my tummy, caressing the cotton, touching every inch of fabric from the buttons to the bed, as if he were lightly sanding the finish with his bare palm. As he approached my left breast, my breathing turned to gasps. The anticipation built until.
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.. my... my pajamas," the boy rasped, scurrying under his brother's bed, still naked and feeling more frightened than he had ever felt before."Be very quiet, boys," their mother said, kicking Randy's pajamas under the bed.Angela took a deep breath and tried to get hold of herself. When she had regained her composure somewhat, she silently opened the bedroom door and slipped out into the hall."Angela, I wondered where you were," her husband said, rubbing his eyes and looking at her sleepily."I was... well... I was in Thad's room," Angela said in a matter-of-fact manner."What are you doing up at this hour? Is something wrong with Thad?" Mike asked."Oh, no, darling... not really," Angela muttered."Not really? Uh, what does that mean, darling?" Mike asked, a puzzled look on his face."Oh, nothing... nothing really..." Angela stammered. "I thought I heard a noise in Thad's room, that's all." You seem upset, Angela. Are you sure there's nothing wrong? Maybe I'd better check the house for.

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